If Heaven Isn't Here

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If Heaven isn’t there

and God is nothing more than

a well-funded daydream

then where have you gone?

I think I know.

Because I can feel you.

You are

the choreographer of the tides

the sculptor of silence

the midwife of flowers

the conductor of storms

the philanthropist of the sun

the late-night custodian of the moon

Even though I can no longer

see you perform a series of soubresauts

along a serpentine stage of sand 

the kind that weeps down 

the slender neck of an  hourglass 

until time runs out,

or hear your voice

that was made to sing with mine

or entwine my fingers

with yours to escort you

safely home

Life goes on

without you.

Everywhere.

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